Madame de Sévigné was a fan of Corneille. In the debates of the times, as to who embodied the essence of tragedy between him and Racine, she would stand for Corneille. She‘d say : His verse is coarse but we forgive him! Hugo, centuries later, also gave his suffrage to the old master. To my dismay, many others have as well, geniuses and thinkers, people with heart and soul.
I admire these people. I truly do. I have nothing but deference for their taste and understanding of art.
But yeah, I don’t follow much.
I have read and read (and read) Corneille. And I have to say that everywhere I see Racine soar, I feel Corneille vaguely tremble. Not unlike the most wretched of deflated balloons, it falls flat. Often.
The wires of rhetorical virtuosity creaking with dust, straining under rust, leaving only the faintest sense of irritation.... Utterly frustrating.
Tragedies of the early moderns, at their best, are like beautiful jellyfishes. They evolve like colorful eery figures, moving forward with alien grace. Racine, Viau, Rotrou, they all retain something of a wonder, despite their apparent artificiality.
Corneille, to me, demands more effort.
That’s why I thought Suréna would be good! I think little of Corneille as a poet but there’s no denying he was a hell of a playwright. He wanted to please and he knew his audience. This play, his last effort to conquer an audience overtaken with a rage for anything precious or tender, is quite clever in that sense. It’s an interesting conversation drawn between Racine’s dramaturgy, one that he clearly tries to evoke, within the greatest overarching structure of his own approach, and the memory of his previous successes.
Corneille explores the figure of elegiac heroism, refusing any compromission, willing to die in lament rather than live on and outgrow the impossibility of forbidden love. His proud heroes, at long last, shiver with something akin to life. No longer will they roar about the ever powerful state! Honor and glory step out on light feet, leaving only whispers and a sense of waste.
It’s still clumsy and feels sort of incomplete but there’s a potential for beauty that leaves an impression. The result is singular, almost consistently charming. It’s not Racine but it’s not Horace and that’s already something of an improvement.
To always love, always suffer, always die...
Love that.